“I swear if I have to see that chap’s flaccid arse one more time, I will gouge out my own eyes,” Brutus announced irritably as he stalked in, bringing with him the scent of winter. “Though,” he added, brushing snow from his heavy coat, “it could be his face. With Craven it’s not easy to tell the difference.”
It had been funny the first time, and the second, but after months of complaints the comment failed to raise a single smile from the boys gathered in the dim study.
Certainly not from William, who stared mournfully into his cup of medicinal tea before taking a deep breath, gulping it back and pulling a disgusted face. “I’d swap you Craven’s arse for this poison, any day,” he said.
“Come now, lad. Last dose tomorrow and once the doc gives his approval, you’ll be all man again.”
The bigger boy lunged for William’s crotch and he didn’t bother trying to avoid it. He couldn’t feel it anyway, hadn’t been able to get a cock-stand since the piercings, which proved the tea was working at least.
Brutus laughed, gave William an intimate squeeze and ruffled his hair. “So sad, Will. You’ll be smiling soon enough. I can promise you that.”
Brutus was right. The following afternoon the doctor pronounced William healed and though the daily salt baths and lavender oil must continue for another month, the medicine was no longer necessary. William showed his thanks by sneaking out, stealing a small hand axe from the gardeners’ shed and attacking a stand of willow trees on the banks of the river, ignoring the cheers and hollers from the boys skating on the ice.
He returned as night fell, drenched to the skin and shivering but with a happy smile on his face. The thorns, which hadn’t hurt going in, had stung like mad coming out and when he’d stuck his hands between his legs to warm them up, his shaft had hardened a little. The relief at knowing no permanent damage had been done was incredible. It was over. He was still whole. And, frankly, the shaking in his limbs wasn’t entirely due to the cold.
Exhausted from his activities, William climbed the stairs without his usual gusto, his feet silent on the wooden boards. Thus, as he rounded the final landing, he nearly blundered into the middle of an intense whispered conversation between, of all people, Cropper and Osborne. Concerned that revealing his presence would bring accusations of spying, William lurked at the stair head and ended up eavesdropping anyway.
“Tell Brutus to leave him alone.”
“I believe one boy is the arrangement, Osborne. Are you willing to give up Spencer?”
“Of course not, but should your father hear-”
A sound that William could only describe as a growl came from one of the boys and he peeked around the corner to see Cropper pressing Osborne back against the wall, his face contorted with rage.
“Do not speak of my father, boy, unless you wish to see your mother equally humbled. And it is a sad fact that a lady’s reputation, once lost, is virtually impossible to recover. Would you condemn her, and by the same measure yourself, to such ignominy?”
Osborne held Cropper’s gaze for another second and then dropped his eyes conceding defeat.
Cropper nodded in satisfaction and stepped back saying, “As I thought. The arrangement will stand, unless you are choosing to remove your affections elsewhere?”
“No. ”
“Then both Spencer and yourself are safe and this conversation is over.” With that Cropper strode away and the sound of a door slamming testified to him returning to his rooms.
For a moment Osborne remained stationary, his gaze fixed to the floor, and William hesitated, tempted to go enquire as to his friend’s well-being. But, before he could move, Bonny swung around and punched the wall behind him, and William saw the tears.
“Bonny,” he yelped, running over as the other boy cried out. Grabbing Osborne’s hand, William examined it for damage and added, “Don’t hurt yourself. Whatever it is cannot be worth breaking your arm again.”
“What would you know, Bartlett,” Bonny snapped, swiping at his face. “Safe up here with your new chums.”
“Then tell me,” William insisted.
Bonny stared at him in disbelief and then snorted and pulled his hand away. “I believe you made yourself clear in the sick room, William. I am no longer counted among your friends.”
Despite the chill, the encounter with Bonny left William too unsettled to go home and he wandered the corridors in search of familiar faces. Spotting Samson across the quad, he headed over to thank him for his help but, as he drew close, Craven appeared asking after Brutus and when William looked back, the servant had slipped away. Other faces, familiar but far from friendly, came and went as he drifted through the close and when William returned to the study an hour or so later, he felt like an excise man at an Irish wake.
“Where in god’s name did you get to?” Brutus greeted him as he walked through the door and didn’t wait for an answer before starting to strip William of his wet clothes.
“I was -” William tried to explain as his shirt vanished over his head.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re late. And you’re freezing. And filthy. Lyall!”
Lyall appeared in the doorway and Brutus snapped, “Water, now,” without taking his eyes off his charge.
“But I was-” William tried again and this time got shoved towards the fire.
“Stand there and warm up. Cropper doesn’t want an icicle in his bed. Water, Lyall!”
“Coming!”
“Leaves in your hair, mud on your face. Wherever you were, I hope you had fun because Cropper was expecting you an hour ago.”
“An hour ago? He didn’t- Ow!”
“Stand still.”
The comb tugged through William’s hair and he stood still for as long as he could and then starting dancing from foot to foot. “Let me move, Brutus. The fire’s hot. It’s burning my bum.”
“Good. You can tell Cropper I tanned it for you. It’ll save us both the trouble.”
“Water’s here. Do you have a cloth?” Lyall asked as he put the bowl down.
“Use his shirt,” Brutus said still fighting the comb through William’s hair. “It’s ruined anyway. Then go and tell Brolly he can stop stalling off; the prodigal’s returned.”
Ten minutes later and with more a lick and a promise than a proper wash, William knocked on Cropper’s bedroom door. He felt strange, nervous, like it was his first time all over again.
Brolly opened the door and slipped out grinning widely at the younger boy’s pensive expression. “All yours, my dear,” he said, giving William’s prick a tweak on the way past. “Just remember voluptates commendat rarior usus.”
His head full of declining Latin verbs, William entered. By the looks of things Brolly had done his job well. Cropper had a contented air about him that said he’d been benefiting from someone’s oral skills and that suited William, it would save him the bother and after all this time of nothing but cocks down his throat he was looking forward to a change.
“Where have you been?”
So much for Brolly covering for him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you wanted me.”
“It’s Sunday, William. I always have you on a Sunday.”
It was tempting to point out that he hadn’t for what seemed like forever but the chilly tinge to Cropper’s eyes suggested any excuses would be badly received. Instead, William slid his robe from his shoulders and climbed up on the bed.
“Are you ready?” Cropper asked as William straddled his hips.
“Oh.” William paused. That was what felt strange. “I’m sorry,” he apologised again. “Brutus was in a hurry and-”
Cropper’s finger on his lips stopped William from saying any more. “I told him not to. It is time you started doing for yourself.”
“Myself?” William squeaked. Somehow sticking his own fingers up his arse didn’t sound as good as someone else doing it.
“Surely you cannot expect Brutus to run around after you forever. He has other things to do and currently you’re taking up much of his time.”
William’s mouth dropped open. It had never occurred to him that Brutus’ services wouldn’t continue, though with a little more thought it was obvious. Brolly had no one setting out his clothes and ensuring he was in the right place at the right time, and, presumably, Brutus didn’t oil him up either.
“The bottle is on the nightstand.”
So it was. In something of a dream, William reached out for it and poured some into his hand. His own fingers, slick, oily, against his entrance, circling and pressing, mimicked Brutus’ actions to the best of their ability. It felt good, as always, and as his cock began to harden the strangest sensations began emanating from the piercing through the tip, like an itch that got nicer and nicer as he grew more erect. His didn’t even notice the breech, which usually still hurt a little.
“William!”
The snap in Cropper’s voice dragged William out of his reverie and he suddenly realised he was impaled on three fingers, pushing them deep inside, and his cock was leaking and throbbing. “Sorry. Sorry,” he gasped, scrambling to replace his own digits with Cropper’s shaft, and, as it sank into him to the fullest extent, his discovered the purpose of the second piercing.
“Holy Christ!”
And then he was grinding down, searching for more and harder, the ring beneath pressing in just like Brutus’ fingers, and Cropper grabbed his hips, thrusting up and that was even better. Sensations snaked through him, tingles from his insides to his outsides, the heavy ring through his dick swaying like a finger stroking, pinching, everything all connecting together like a lightening rod and faster and better and oh god! Then, sooner than William had ever dreamed possible, he was coming, his hole clamping down, balls tight, and cock pulsing with pleasure so intense his body was drowning in it.
Collapsing forward, he lay like a wrung sheet on Cropper’s chest, only
dimly aware of the other boy reaching his own noisy climax and too sensitive
to do anything except shudder through it. So this was why Brutus suggested the
piercings, William thought hazily, he really should find him gift to say thank
you.